Here lies the greener grass.
The Fountain of Life series continues with a story about a legacy bestowed, an inheritance claimed, and each individual’s responsibility to him or herself and mankind.
One person’s inheritance and choices can influence (and even impact) future generations. Would you carry the torch knowing it will eventually be put out or would you extinguish it yourself to prevent the fire?
But, no one lives forever …
Nineteen-year-old Emery Kidd is one of two historians for her community. As a Chronicler, she is aware of the minute details of a society dramatically changed over the course of the two hundred years since cellular regression began. However, it is only now, after one of her lifetimes has passed, she discovers an important fact about her own heritage. She is the daughter of the most famous of regeneratives to have ever lived.
Consequently, Emery is also quietly learning just what it means to be the daughter of a martyred woman. Undoubtedly, she bears a strong resemblance to her mother, but more than auburn hair and expressive facial features, Emery would like to believe she’s inherited the same strength of character as well. And yet, believing and knowing are entirely separate matters.
Since everything changes with time—in varying degrees—and destiny often unfolds a plan unforeseen, Emery may just find the opportunity to test her belief. In fact, the entire human population will come face to face with their true inheritance.
The question is how the consequences of this legacy will be received. Lest we forget, the mere passage of time does not come with it an entitlement to life. To live and prosper is a path that is earned, but mankind has seemingly forgotten this and it could lead to their demise. For the future is inevitable, with or without human life on the planet. Can Emery, with the help of her friends, Cassidy, Liam, and Aiden, find a way to remind the world that survival requires conscious effort and in doing so, save the lives of the oblivious many?
Because lest we forget, the future requires we honor the past.
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Teaser from Chapter 1
The warmth of sunlight hovers. Abstractly I look up at the pale blue patches of sky, in between the scattered cottony clouds that have rolled in. As a shiver travels along my arms, I suddenly become aware of the coolness within the borders of the park.
Although my jacket is buttoned all the way to my neck, I pull at the woolen sides and wrap my arms around my waist. My fingers tingle. Looking down at reddened tips of the fleshy side and a bluish tinge to my nails on the other, I know my nose and cheeks are bound to be rosy, as well. It’s a wonder I didn’t feel the bite until now. A brisk walk will put some distance between me and this place. I’ve shed a fair amount of baggage these past few months, but lately there are new meditations to store in an invisible backpack—a burden I’ve been unknowingly carrying upon my shoulders for years.
Snippet from Chapter 2
“I don’t know what’s wrong but you’ve been getting on my case over the smallest things. Yesterday, I left a cup in the sink after you’d done the dishes. Whoopee,” I say unenthusiastically, twirling a finger in the air and sliding a stool from under the kitchen counter with my foot.
Her glare becomes more pointed and the downward crease of her mouth deepens as she looks up at me. She simmers, expectant perhaps of both a psychic ability I do not possess and my remorse, once that especially powered epiphany has struck.
“So now if the sink is empty I’m supposed to do every dish right after I use it? What are we trying to achieve … our independence from the sink? ‘Cause you look about ready to wage war,” I smirk. She tilts her head to the side; annoyed I’m not taking her anger seriously. I might if I knew about what this was. Then again, if this was another frivolous tantrum, I might not. I stand with my arms crossed in front of me in an unrelenting posture.
Excerpt from Chapter 3
Afterward, I lay sprawled across my bed listening to an old band called, Pink Floyd. The song playing is Wish You Were Here. I mouth the cryptic words and at first, I think of her. A random image of Aiden, a work colleague I’ve known for a year—strike that—I’ve known of for a year, enters my mind. It’s nothing really; I just wish he were here, too. Again, he is as mysterious as the lyrics of the song.
The days are getting longer and it’s still light out, but my reverie takes me to the realm of indigo sky. At the beginning of Charlotte’s documented story, she had trouble falling asleep and spent the last few minutes of consciousness every night looking for a found star as means of distraction. I, on the other hand, lay in bed each evening searching the skies for the interstellar medium—the in-between patches devoid of stars.
I ponder the existence of extraterrestrial beings in these non-glowing spaces, or distant angels aloft on hidden cliffs peeking over the edges of clouds at us as if we were ants. The fact is, in the scheme of things, we are tiny bodies gathered into communities with appointed leaders, moving back and forth, gathering food, and building new structures. And although our communities do not have official queens and kings, we have our recognized ones.
Anyway, among the angels, I fantasize my mother watches me as I navigate my trials and trails. (There must be someone I belong to, heavenly living or earthly dead.)